


Happy Love Day

by AnathemaAuthoress



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, Grumpy Geralt, Jaskier and Ciri being sweet, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, M/M, One Shot, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Valentine's Day Fluff, love day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:00:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22731370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnathemaAuthoress/pseuds/AnathemaAuthoress
Summary: "I can tell by the look on his face that he’s already tired of the conversation."Jaskier expresses that some people like to celebrate a day that honors love. Geralt wants no part of it, but that won't stop the bard.Just a fluffy one-shot for V-day!
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 3
Kudos: 91





	Happy Love Day

**Author's Note:**

> I've been in a strange mood, so I tried to write this in a style I usually don't. I hope you like it.

I can tell by the look on his face that he’s already tired of the conversation. His golden eyes are veered just left of the fire, focused on some idle twig or insect I can’t make out from my place across from him.

“All I’m saying is that all over the land tomorrow certain cities will be celebrating and I see no reason why we shouldn’t. It’s about love and togetherness! It’s wholesome.”

“It’s about pinching coin from tourists for frivalties. We’ll continue on north instead, where such foolishness is ignored,” Geralt growls.

I know there is no further point in arguing with him. Ciri looks as disappointed as I, but even she doesn’t dare challenge him.

“I have no need of such things,” he mutters, unprompted. _And no love worth celebrating,_ I can hear without him saying. Can see it painted on his melancholy features, and it does sting, but I am no more frightened of a wasp’s tail than I am of the witcher himself.

In any case, I am inclined to disagree with him, but I choose to save my arguments for tomorrow.

***

When I wake in the morning my blood is practically buzzing. It’s bright under the early morning sun and the forest air smells crisp and promising. Even the crick in my spine cannot deter me.

Ciri’s grinning face greets me, her blond hair is all lit up in the light and frames her face like a halo, and I know someday soon someone will want to lavish her in gifts on a day like today. “Happy love day, Jaskier,” she says sweetly.

“And a charming love day to you, your majesty.” I offer a gesturing wave of the hand and the best half-bow I can manage seated. I’m rewarded with a giggle from her, and a moment later, a pointed leer from Geralt as he returns to the camp. He’s carrying a dangling rabbit by the back legs.

Ciri wrinkles her nose reflexively.

“Oh, lovely,” I say, “breakfast!”

We eat in mostly silence, with Geralt grunting here and there and Ciri and I exchanging silly expressions over our meal when he isn’t looking.

On the trip thereafter, as I walk in even paces behind Roach, I alternate between speaking to Ciri in hushed tones about love celebrations and watching Geralt’s steady, brooding breaths as he bounces on the saddle above.

What does he think about? I often wonder this in his company. Today I believe his mind is occupied by something profound, like the trivialities of holidays when one will live through hundreds–thousands?–lots, in any case.

It’s either that, or the very opposite, something petty. That the rabbit wasn’t very filling–it wasn’t for me and I am not a bison of rippling muscles obscured only by the leather holding me together–and he’s really just musing about buying a bite to buffer the ache in his gut.

_Imagine._ Geralt the terrifying witcher, eyes steely gold, scowl of nightmares, fretting internally about a bit of sweet cake.

I can imagine, of course, and I do believe it suits him better than others might believe.

_Oh, witcher has his path ahead_

_Adventures plague his weary head_

_Yet he pines only for his love_

_A single slice of bread_

Funny, but not much substance. _Fillingless–_ Makes him seem like he’s starving, which he isn’t. Or vacant, and certainly he is not. – _fillingless pie._

But I digress.

We reach the township by noon. I know Geralt will tend to the boarding, so I turn to him at once when he dismounts. “I’ve got some errands to run, I’ll be back in a while. Which hotel will you–”

My eyes dart around. Right, of course, I’ve been here before. They’ve only got one lodging worth using. “Nevermind, I know where to go,” I continue to spare him having to answer. “See you soon!”

I whip back around to take my leave and feel warm fingers, a powerful grip, link about my forearm.

“Wait,” Geralt growls.

Is it alright how the sound makes my heart flutter? Causes my stomach to drop out?

“Y-yes?” Shit! Didn’t mean to stutter, never do, despise the sound. I look him up and down, he looks intense, but not especially longing. Confused actually. 

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“Didn’t I say? Sorry, errands!”

“What errands?” His voice has become a hiss and, thusly, my knees are jelly.

“Just...bard things.”

“Bard things?”

“Yes, yes, like...l-lute. Lute things,” I stutter, put my free hand on my hip indignantly. I dare him to tell me I do not need lute things! He doesn’t know what those are! They could be a thing, surely they are, though I can think of none presently.

“Lute things,” he repeats. His eyes narrow.

“Yes?” I don’t know! Why does he care? 

It seems he doesn’t so much, since he finally lets go and sighs. I’m a little disappointed, but I can still feel an almost numb tingle in my arm. “Be back before nightfall,” he mumbles and leads both Ciri and Roach away. He seems almost sad, but I can’t fathom why. All the same, I’m certain his mood will improve soon enough.

***

My tasks take longer than anticipated, as the town does not celebrate much, my needs were harder to fulfill, so I don’t get in until past dark. It doesn’t strike me as an issue until I’m in the hotel, excitedly tapping Geralt on the shoulder, and he turns to me with a pained scowl.

“What’s wrong? Is Ciri alright?” I can almost taste the panic on my tongue as it settles in to smother my excitement. He seems so disdainful that I can only imagine something awful has happened in my absence.

Yet, naturally, he looks at me then like I’m an invalid, or perhaps like my head is swarming with bees and I am oblivious to my ailment.

“Cirilla is in her own room, what are you on about?”

“Lord mercy,” I gasp. “Then why on earth are you so angry?” I can feel relief flood my chest, but it is rapidly replaced with annoyance for his startling me.

“I’m not angry,” he grumbles, sounding entirely pissed, thanks.

“Sad then?”

To that he only huffs through his nostrils like a steer. For just a moment, I picture him with horns and a metal ring in his nostrils. The thought does something primal to me, which I promptly push down. 

“What is wrong then?”

I almost expect him to ignore me. To saunter away in harsh silence and not speak to me again until morning. Instead he rocks in place, almost unbalanced, bears his teeth in silence as he tries to summon words, then all but spits, “I told you to be back by nightfall. You are late!”

I can picture my own eyes wide as saucers because they feel as though they are stretching my face. To say I’m shocked would be to undersell the matter entirely.

“I’m sorry,” I reply, unsure what else to say.

He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. The day is over.”

At this I balk. My lips quiver open to protest. “No! I haven’t gone to bed, it’s still today. It’s dark, not light again,” I say. I certainly didn’t spend an entire afternoon _after_ a trek preparing for my plans, only to miss the day. “Nonsense!”

Geralt’s face is set and I realize I’m worried about my own intentions, and have foolishly overlooked his own. 

“Wait, hold on, why does it matter what day it is?”

“It doesn’t,” he says quickly. I can see him about to flee, perhaps to the bath or into the night, away from me in some way.

I reach out reflexively and now it is me gripping his wrist. We both look down at it in equal surprise. I hadn’t meant to, had merely reacted to the fear of losing him–a _gain–_ for the night.

“I’m sorry,” I say again. “Please, um, don’t go. I have something for you.” He holds mercifully still and I scurry out just past the room’s doorframe, into the night where I left my package. I bring it back inside and offer him the brown paper-wrapped gift. It is small, and I present it with much less grandiose than I had pictured. I start to wring my hands, worried for the first time that he won’t like it.

He unwraps it carefully and it’s nearly torture to watch. The paper reveals a generous wedge of his favorite cheese, and a rather impressive square of chocolate. I worry now that it isn’t enough, isn’t quite good enough, but the chocolate took most of the day to procure. It’s especially sweet and expensive, but seeing it makes it seem so pitiful. I tell him none of this, merely shuffle foot to foot.

He looks at it, almost puzzled. “Why?”

“A gift. You know. Special occasion. Or not, whatever,” I say.

“This was what you were doing all day?” His expression starts to soften. I can’t tell if it’s exhaustion or guilt creeping in.

“Well, no,” I admit. “I have–I mean I made–something else. I have something else for you. Is what I mean.” I clear my throat and try to ease my nerves. Then I sit on the edge of one of the two beds in the room and pull forward my lute. I indicate with my eyes that he should sit across from me on the other bed. It takes a few flickers of my gaze and a wily grin for him to abide, but he does, and to my pleasure, does it while still cradling his gifts gently in his hands.

I strum the first cord and my confidence sinks in me like a stone, one that threatens to drag me down and drown me under a current of fear. My fingers falter, he looks surprised, so I force a laugh and try again.

It’s easier, when I look at his soft, quizzical expression, to play out the chords I spent so long choosing just for him. 

I begin to sing a gentle ballad.

_“Oh, love,_

_Your face is in the Milkyway._

_I follow you through everyday._

_Oh, love I wish to say,_

_Beautiful Garroter, your heart is my sky!_

_Lovely Garroter, you’re the sweet plum of my eye._

_My words may seem petty, but my_

_Intentions they are true._

_There is no foe we cannot face_

_And no bridge we cannot cross with you._

_You see us through the dark and there is_

_No such thing as loss! When we’re together…_

_You are the witcher of my world and I want you to know_

_You are my love!_

_Oh, love. Ooooh, oh, love.”_

The music plays out slowly, but my eyes never leave his. I can see understanding lighting them up and surprise tickling at his lashes as they lift up toward his brows. When it ends, he is still and quiet. Then he places the cheese and chocolate on the bed beside him and stands. I half expect him to run, and being left alone would be reasonable, if painful. I also think perhaps he might punch me, for being so forthright, which is all I would deserve really in the face of such audacity. But I’m braced, I was ready for any response.

However, Geralt turns away from me. Goes to one of the satchels he has hanging on the hotel’s desk chair. He rummages around for a moment, and pulls out something wrapped delicately in cloth. He brings it over and, standing before me, carefully unwinds the fabric to reveal a vibrant blue rose. It sparkles with a mystical effervescence.

Then I find that I was not prepared for this. He holds it out to me and I take it almost timidly.

“It isn’t as rare as it looks,” he says carefully. “They grow near where we camped. They are said to serve as inspirations to artists, and the like. But they don’t really do anything, they are just sort of…” He waves both hands around at his sides like he’s reeling for the word. “Sparkle, I guess. Because of the stream they grow near.”

I nod my head, not sure what to do with this information. Not completely clear on what it means, or why I’m holding such a radiant thing between my thumb and forefinger. 

“It’s for you,” he clarifies. “I realized, I wasn’t really being fair. About today. Or yesterday depending on perspective,” he half-huffs. He’s pouting, it’s cute. The flower is a gift, breathtaking.

My head starts to swim and my whole body feels warm. I pull the flower to my face, the scent is subtle, but delightful, and it only makes me feel more like I’m floating.

“What did you think of the song?” I ask, and my voice sounds far away, too small and soft to really be mine.

He swallows thickly, I notice with a longing ache how his adam’s apple bobs, how his jaw tightens, and his chest seems to rattle with hard-won air. Then he leans down, closes the distance, I nearly lean away, but I’m stunned still.

His lips against mine are so hot. I expected the chill of stone, not this overwhelming magma. They are plush and I lean into them. I hear a moan but I don’t know if it is mine or his. My chest feels like a bird is trapped inside, clamoring, slamming against my ribs like the bars of a prison cell. Begging to get out and crash into him.

Jolts run through my brain, up and down my neck, shoulders, everywhere.

Then he’s gone, quick as he’d come. My lips may stay puckered an instant too long, my eyes may flutter too many times. It takes my body a second to adjust to the change. I look up at him, his pale face is flushed.

“Does this mean–” I try to ask, but he cuts me off.

“Happy love day, Jaskier. Thank you for, you know, the chocolate. And the song. Everything.”

It’s so perfect I’m almost afraid to move, but then he settles onto his bed properly, leans against the headboard in a slouch and with a grin begins to eat his treats. “We should check the town for jobs tomorrow,” he says casually.

I know there will be no more talk of this for a very long time. Geralt is not ready, I can sense, to embrace what we both now know. But he is upbeat, almost mischievous. A new board has been set, a new game started. Even if this is the only move we can make this year, then _a year well spent_. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day everyone! I know this is a little late, but I was celebrating my fave holiday with my husband. Also, I am not a lyricist, so please don't hold that against me. In any case, I hope you guys like my attempt at first-person romance and that it added some warm, bubbly feelings to your day. Don't be afraid to tell me your thoughts in the comments <3


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